Still Beating Spark
by Phoenix Lam
Summary: "Until now, only Autobots and Decepticons have had Sparks. We know how theirs work...but you are a mystery to us." OC Autobot xOC Human xOptimus Prime
1. Human Spark

_Before time began, there was the Cube._

_We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony, but like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war, a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death, and the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space. We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it and rebuild our home, searching every star, every world. And just when all hope seemed lost, message of a new discovery drew us to an unknown planet called Earth. But we were already too late..._

What few know is that the Cube has a mind, and a story, of its own. Upon entering the atmosphere, the Cube was burned and jagged. One tiny sliver broke off, burying itself into the ground several miles away from the landing site of the artifact. This sliver remained dormant, though it was always seeking to return to the Cube—either that, or find someone worthy to give its powers to. The lot where the Cube sliver landed was empty for many long years, until the builders of the Hoover Dam realized they needed a place to stay during construction. So, on top of this lot, they built what is now called Boulder City Hospital, in a town of the same name, located in the state of Nevada. A baby was born, many years later. Having arrived four months early, her chances of survival were less than ten percent. And yet, the sliver awoke upon hearing the cries of this tiny being. Much was done to try and keep the child alive. Tubes, wires, an incubator as her constant companion….but it was when the electrical impulses were used to stimulate her nervous system that the Cube sliver decided to act. It came up through the ground, moving into her body and giving her strength. It formed an indestructible crystal around her heart—one that it had formed countless times before around the Sparks of the inhabitants of Cybertron, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Thus, the first Human Spark was formed.

**EIGHTEEN YEARS LATER**

I looked above my head, and couldn't believe what I was seeing. Flying through the dark sky were five meteors, surrounded by smoke and fire. The streets were filled with onlookers, some screaming in fear, others using their cellphones to capture the moment. I just stared, speechless. My honey-colored hair rose, along with goosebumps, as the space-rocks hurled down to Earth. I shook my head, clearing my mind that felt like it was stuck in a fog. Once I could think, I ran towards home. I had missed the late bus that arrived after my detention I was serving for Math class, and so I had stuck to the sidewalks and walked. My house was less than two minutes away, but I was still panting when I arrived at the door of the small brick building.

"Mom," I called as I pushed open the screen door, the familiar creak of the springs assaulting my ears. "Did you see the meteors?"

She was standing at the kitchen sink, her arms in soapy water up to her elbows. Her head was craned out the window in front of her.

"Wow," She said, more to herself than anything. "Would you look at that!"

"Mom," I repeated, a little louder this time.

"Yeah, honey, I see."

She turned around; I almost laughed at the gaudy flower apron she was wearing, along with purple rubber gloves on her hands. The tan slacks she wore, along with a light blue shirt and her frizzy gray-blond hair, made her look like something out of a fifties era commercial gone terribly wrong.

"How was school, Abbey?" She asked me.

"Detention in math, again."

Her shoulders sank. "You know what the principal said. You've got to be careful, or you'll be suspended next time. There has to be another way to solve the problem….a solution that doesn't involve punching someone's teeth out."

I crossed my arms and pretended to be pouty. "You ruin all my fun."

She didn't buy it. Her left eyebrow rose, and the stern look she was famous for returned around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

"We can't afford home school, or anger management. We can't even afford groceries every week. I'll not have my daughter kicked out of high school in her last year."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I promise I'll try harder to stay out of trouble."

She gave me a small smile. "Well, see that you do. Now get your homework done."

I almost hesitated to ask, but my grumbling stomach had to know.

"No dinner tonight?"

She gave a tiny shake of her head; I could see the shame in her eyes.

"It's alright, Mom. I'll graduate and then get a job—we'll make enough, you'll see. No more of this scrounging around, I promise."

She had taken her gloves off by now, and drained the water in the sink. She gave me a long hug—it was the only thing in the world that ever made me feel like everything was going to be ok. No matter how brave I tried to be, Mom's hug would always bring something out of me. This time, it was tears. I wiped at them furiously with one hand before pulling back and kissing her cheek.

"I'll be in my room, if you need me," I told her.

She nodded. "Okay. Let me know if you need any help."

I bounded up the stairs, closing my door lightly behind me. The room was my sanctuary, located at the top of the house. I had cut clippings from magazines—pictures, phrases, articles I liked—and plastered three of the four walls with my homemade collages. It gave me a strange sense of comfort. Not that the room itself was very big—only room enough for a bed on the left wall, a dresser and overstuffed chair and a computer desk on the right—but it was home. The one window was a pain—it was always crooked when I pushed it open, and always got stuck when I pushed it down. I had put blue curtains on it to block out the light, pulling the chain on the naked bulb in the ceiling. I couldn't help but squint as bright light filled up the room, but my eyes adjusted. I was about to turn the computer on, but then I remembered that the phone company had stopped giving us internet and telephone service almost a month ago. My uncle Mack had paid our electric bill for the next couple of months, so at least we would have heat and light.

I flopped down onto my bed and took a journal out from under the pillow. Tomorrow was my eighteenth birthday, not that I felt like celebrating. When I was sixteen, my Mom still had a job. I had gotten my permit and my license that year, in a span of six months, as the law permitted. She had a bonus check from work that paid for it, and I studied hard so that I wouldn't have to take the tests more than once. Still, even though I could drive, a car was just a dream. Mom's own mini-van had been impounded by the bank when she couldn't make payments on it anymore—lucky for us, this town was tiny, and walking was a plausible solution. I don't know how long I wrote in my journal for, nor do I remember putting it on the floor beside me before I closed my eyes and slept. All I remember was waking up in the morning to the sound of a bird singing outside my window.

"Abbey!" Mom called from the bottom of the stairs. "Come down here and get your birthday present!"

I couldn't help but smile as I got dressed that morning. I wore ratty, faded jeans and a black Misfits t-shirt, throwing a pair of sneakers that were a size too big onto my feet. Most of my clothes were stolen from donation bins in the dead of night, after Mom couldn't make them anymore because she had to sell her sewing machine. I left my hair down and I took the stairs two at a time. Mom was standing in the hallway near the front door with her brother, Uncle Mack. Mack was a serious guy, with close-cropped blonde hair and a graying beard. His eyes were blue and strong, like my Mom's. Square shouldered and handsome, he had done very well for himself in life, starting at the bottom and working his way up to the owner of his own auto-parts store here in town. They were even talking about expanding, franchising new stores in other states.

"There's my favorite niece," He said with a grin before taking me into a bear hug.

"I'm you're only one," I said against his chest. "I'd better be your favorite."

He laughed. "You're celebrating a birthday today, am I right?"

I nodded.

"Mmm. Not sure I should give you this if you're gonna keep winding up in detention…."

He took a set of keys from his jacket pocket, jingling them high above my head.

I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. "Please, please, I'll never have detention again!"

He glanced at my mom, but dropped the keys into my hands nonetheless. I ran outside and laughed at the sight of my new car. Honestly, it was a wreck…but it was MINE. It was a 1966 Dodge Coronet, the paint faded and chipped. There were more than a few scratches and dents, and when I turned the key in the ignition, I thought that the poor car would lose its engine, the way it rattled and shook. It looked like a teething puppy had eaten its way through the gray leather upholstery, and the manual windows squeaked something fierce when I rolled them down or up. Still, it was MINE!

"It may not look like much," Uncle Mack said through the open window. "But this old guy will get you where you need to go, just fine. Happy birthday, Abbey."

I smiled and got out of the car, hugging him and then my Mom, who was absolutely beaming.

"You guys are the greatest."

"Just don't crash it," Mom warned with a dramatic wag of her index finger.

I laughed. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

It was the best day of my life. I was unaware that it was the last time I would see my mother or my uncle alive again.


	2. A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

_**Almost immediately, I knew this was a dream. Mainly because there was no such thing as a massive scorpion-shaped robot who could flatten entire houses with its tail. I saw National Guard trucks roll in, firing some shots from puny guns that bounced off of the thing like water against a rock. The robot whirled its tail around, sending the trucks flying like so many feathers in the wind. I could hear the screams of the soldiers as they sailed through the air. The metal scorpion then turned its gaze to my own house. Where claws should have been, there were spinning cannons instead. The outside of these weapons looked like drills as big as fire trucks, while the insides looked like plasma cannons you might find in a science fiction movie. With two blasts from said cannons, the entire bottom floor of my house was blown to pieces. Weren't my mother and uncle asleep on the first floor? It didn't matter, because this was only a dream. The top floor was held up only by the far corner supports of the house—in other words, the only parts of the first floor that didn't have an enormous hole blown through it. Two things happened next. Firstly, a pair of helicopters flew in from above, firing huge shells down onto the metal scorpion. Secondly, black Humvees sped onto the scene, surrounding my house in a semi-circle. I saw men in suits exit the vehicles and run for the ruins of my home, pointing up to where I was, still in my bed. As the shells were dropped, the Scorpion used its claws to drill into the sand and disappear. A fire truck was called in, and I was brought down to the ground by a ladder and a man in a reflective red hard-hat. Before I could ask any questions, a thick black blindfold was put over my eyes, and I was shoved into the back of one of the Humvees. As they began to drive away from the scene, the men in suits ignoring every question I asked, I willed myself to wake up. I did not even think to wonder who was driving my Coronet, which was now following the procession of cars at quite a distance.**_

When I opened my eyes, my heart dropped to my throat. I was surrounded by darkness, but I could feel the rough cloth of the blindfold against my skin. This couldn't be happening. Things like this don't happen. EVER.

"Would someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" I heard sadness and fear in my voice, coming out of my throat like a whimper.

No answer. I was too frightened and upset to keep questioning. Maybe, eventually, someone would decide to let me know what had just happened. Until then, all I could do was wait.

The blindfold was removed. I sat in a chair, in a room that looked an awful lot like a doctor's office. There was an examination table against one wall, as well as a computer and charts and diagrams on another. The man who stood before me was tall, perhaps six-foot-five. In short, he looked very much like Clark Kent, but he only wore glasses for reading (this I assumed because when I cleared my throat, he took them off to look at me). His hair was dark, shoulders were square and strong, and he was undeniably attractive. I imagined that if he had ever played a sport in his lifetime, lacrosse or rugby would have suited him just fine.

"Hello there," He said, his voice gentle and quieter than I expected. "I'm Doctor Taggart. This is Agent Simmons."

The man who held the blindfold had curly black hair, wore a suit, and looked about forty five.

"I know you're confused," Dr. Taggart said. "You probably have a lot of questions. Agent Simmons is going to answer the majority of those in a few minutes. First, I need to speak with you alone."

At this, Agent Simmons left the room without a word. When the door behind him shut, Taggart reached over and locked it. I swallowed, hard, my heart beating a little faster in my chest.

"You are Abigail May Archibald, are you not?"

I nodded, reflexively tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

"You have been of interest to Sector Seven ever since you were born."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Sector Seven? Never heard of it."

"Never will. Everything from this moment on that you are about to hear and see is top secret. Technically speaking, Sector Seven doesn't exist. Do you understand?"

I shrugged. "I think so."

"Good. Now, to be brief, Sector Seven was formed by President Herbert Hoover, when he discovered what is believed to be an alien artifact right here, many years ago."

"Where is here?"

"The Hoover Dam. He commissioned the Dam to be built around the artifact, to mask its massive energy emissions so that no other nation would grow suspicious if the readings were to be picked up on satellite."

"An…_alien_ artifact? Are you sure?"

The doctor nodded. "The entire purpose of Sector Seven is to investigate the existence of aliens. So far, we've done nothing but prove the theory time and again. Aliens exist, and may even be living among us as we speak."

Okay, so this guy was cute, but he was beginning to sound like a loony.

"I imagine you'll want proof?" He asked.

Before I could reply, he bent down and unlocked one of the bottom drawers on his computer desk. He took out a thick folder full of papers, photographs, and x-rays. He handed it to me and stood near me as I opened the manila envelope.

"This folder is everything we have on you, from the time you were born until now. Take a look."

The photographs in particular shocked me. They were color depictions of my insides, particularly my heart. It was surrounded by a blue crystalline substance, which extended into my veins and colored my blood a particularly phosphorescent shade of blue.

"What….is that?"

"That, Miss Archibald, is your heart. It's been like that since you were born, and no one can explain why. Have you ever wondered why you never got sick in school? Why the cuts and bruises you earned from the fights you started never lasted more than a couple of hours, even at their worst? Why the explosion that took out most of your house didn't even leave you with a scratch?"

"Are you calling me an alien?" I asked as calmly as I could, though my brain was spinning.

"Your heart and its casing certainly are. The reason you've never been to a normal hospital…the reason all of your doctors have been working for Sector Seven…it's all right here."

"So…you've been running tests on me? Experimenting on me to try and figure out what I am?"

"It's not that simply put, Abigail…"

"Yes, it is," I replied, anger rising in my chest. "All I am is an _experiment _to you…you vultures! You sick, heartless, twisted VULTURES! I HAVE HUMAN RIGHTS!"

"Technically," Said a new voice from the doorway.

I looked up to see Agent Simmons, a set of keys in his hand.

"You aren't _entirely _Human. So the laws don't _entirely _apply."

I lunged at him, but Dr. Taggart held me back. With no other option, I spit in the Agent's overly-smug face. He wiped at his countenance with a sleeve before replying coolly.

"The closest thing we've ever found to something like you is in this next room," He said. "You might be a little less hostile once you've seen it."

I was breathing hard, so many emotions going through my body at once that it was hard to focus my vision.

"And if I'm not?"

Agent Simmons shrugged. "You can have your memory erased and we'll drop you off in the middle of the desert. Sound fair?"

It was official. I hated this man with every fiber of my being. Really, though, what choice did I have? I had more questions than answers at this point, and obviously if I refused to cooperate, I'd get nowhere. At least I could look at the thing in the next room (which, by the way, I was absolutely expecting to be a green, slimy, black-eyed creature). I took a deep breath to try and steady myself. Then, with Dr. Taggart still holding my arm, I followed Agent Simmons into the chamber.


	3. Prime

Ahead of me, in what Agent Simmons referred to as "the Holding Chamber", was a massive, thirty-two foot tall metal robot, encased in dry ice that was continuously keeping him frozen. It was monitored by over twenty people in white hazard suits and hard-hats.

"We've put him into cryogenic stasis," He explained. "We call him NBE-1…that's Non-Biological-Extraterrestrial, to you."

"So, you're saying the closest thing you could find to _me_ was…_that_."

"More like, the closest thing we've ever found to him is _you_."

We stepped up onto a platform that the men in white hazard suits used for close-up inspections. The crane brought us up to the robots chest, and it was there that I saw the resemblance. The NBE had the same crystal around his…heart, if you could call it that. It looked more like a dead light bulb to me, not a living organ.

"He was brought here in 1932," Simmons explained. "We've been studying him ever since."

"I suppose that's what you plan on doing with me?"

Simmons didn't answer me. "Taggart," He said instead. "Take her to her quarters."

My room was a tiny, metal-walled enclosure with no windows. A bed was in one corner, a toilet with a curtain around it in the other.

"I'll be back to talk with you later," Was all Taggart said.

Left alone, I lay down on the bed. It was only when I took a deep breath that I began to cry, wondering what the hell was happening to my life.

My wristwatch said two in the morning when Dr. Taggart walked into my room. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt and jeans.

"Come on," He said. "Get up, and put this on."

I stood, whereupon he handed me a smaller hoodie of the same color.

"What are you doing?" I asked, pulling the garment over my head.

"Getting you out of here."

My heart swelled with hope, but I was still suspicious. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's a long story," He said. "One day, I'll have the chance to explain it to you. Right now, we've got to move. Keep quiet, stay close, and when I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"

I nodded.

He took me by the hand and led me through the semi-darkened halls, until we reached the side entrance. The door was locked, opened only with a keycard, fingerprint, and retinal scan. Taggart provided all three, once he had blinded the cameras above the door out with a well-aimed toss of a paperweight I had seen in his office, which shattered the lenses without revealing who threw the projectile.

"This passage will lead you to the road," He said. "Take this, and run as fast as you can."

He reached beneath his sweatshirt and handed me the folder that acted as my file with Sector Seven. Then, taking a breath, he continued.

"…you'll see a car waiting for you at the end of the Dam. He'll know what to do, just _go_."

I assumed he was talking about the driver. Still, I had to question his motives.

"Why are you doing this for me? You could get in serious trouble for this."

"I told you, I can't explain…"

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Suffice it to say," he finally said. "I didn't sign up to deprive an eighteen year old of a normal life. Now go!"

At the end of the passage, I opened another door with a valve for a handle, like the ones you see in submarines. The road greeted me, and at the end of it…my Coronet, rattling and shaking like a leaf in a gale. I didn't even have time to wonder how it got here, or why on Earth anyone would choose _that_ vehicle as a getaway car. I gripped the folder tightly, looked around, and sprinted forward once I was sure it was clear. The car revved its engine, as the passenger's side door opened. The front seat was tipped forward, so I climbed into the back. The seat righted itself; I could see the head and hands of the driver, but that was all. As soon as the door closed, a loud alarm went off. It was coming from the dam!

"We'll never outrun them," I said. "Not in this car."

"We'll see about that, lass," the driver replied, in a voice that was smooth, low, and undeniably Scottish in origin.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"You'll find out soon enough," He said, without turning around. "Now relax, and leave this to me."

He seemed awfully confident, despite the fact that I was certain this car would fall apart if it went over 40 miles an hour. He pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and the engine sounded remarkably different. The shaking and rattling stopped, replaced with something that sounded like a purr—pristine, new, and (above all) _fast_. With a speed I hadn't thought possible; we flew over the dam, and left it behind in a cloud of dust.

I put my file on the floor of the car and slept, using my newly acquired sweatshirt as a pillow. I had so many questions, but I was just so completely exhausted. The last 48 hours had been hell, or something equally unpleasant. I needed answers, a stiff drink, or maybe just to wake up from what I still thought was some kind of dream. In my mind, sleeping was better than confronting whatever it was that had decided to invade my life and flip it around. Eventually, though, we always had to wake up. When I did, the car was parked in what looked like an abandoned factory. Most of the glass in the windows was gone, replaced by layers of plywood and faded strips of caution tape. From the looks of it, this place was condemned, set for demolition at any time. This fact alone made my next observation even more confusing. Sitting directly across from my car, looking as new as the building was old, was a massive Peterbilt 379, painted blue with red flames on its front. There was no driver, though the truck was running.

The driver of my car was missing, as well. I picked up my file and exited the car, looking around. Ahead of me, there was a huge sliding door, like the ones on garages. It looked rusted open. Outside, the tarmac slowly faded into dead grass, stretching for miles in either direction. A beat-down road wound away from the factory, but that was all.

"Great," I said to myself. "This is just great."

"You best come back inside, lass," The voice of the Driver fell on my ears.

I looked around, but saw no one. When I stepped into the factory, he spoke again.

"You may want to sit down," He said.

Without giving me the chance to question him, my ears were met with sounds. Whirring, twisting, mechanical noises—the vehicles in front of me were changing, transforming, into new things. Robots, to be exact. I felt my knees turn to jelly—I fell onto the floor without much of a fight. The robots turned their gazes onto me—the Peterbilt was taller than my car, some 32 feet to my Coronet's 18 or 20.

The taller one spoke first, his voice like thunder. "You are Abigail May Archibald, are you not?"

His words mirrored Dr. Taggart, and for a fleeting moment I wondered what had happened to him. In response to the robot, I just nodded, like my head was in a vice.

"I am Optimus Prime."

At the word 'Prime', a low, throbbing ache began in my chest. It lasted for a couple of seconds, and then it was gone.

"We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron, but you can call us Autobots for short."

"Autobots," I said cautiously, rolling the word around like a tangible thing. "What are you, some kind of alien?"

"Yes," His reply was matter-of-fact. "Upon learning of your existence, we sent Lionheart to guard you."

My…Autobot…gave me a two-fingered salute.

"Guard me from what?"

"Our enemies, the Decepticons."

"Decepticons?"

Optimus nodded. "They are led by Megatron, who came here for the same reason as we did…to find the All Spark. It is the source of all life, and the only thing that can restore our planet of Cybertron. You are of great value to the Decepticons because of the Spark in your chest, created by the All Spark. You are the first Human to have one of your own."

"What does that mean?"

He shook his head. "We aren't entirely sure. Until you, only Autobots and Decepticons have had Sparks. We know how theirs work…but you are a mystery to us. One thing is certain: if the Decepticons find you, that Spark in your chest will be used for only the greatest of evils. We are lucky that Lionheart found you first."

"The…thing…that destroyed my house? That was a Decepticon?"

"He is called Scorponok, a minion of a more powerful Decepticon called Blackout."

"So, my mom and uncle…"

"You were the only one alive in that house when Sector Seven arrived," Lionheart spoke softly. Optimus looked very sad, if it was even possible, as he said his next words. "I am sorry, Abigail."

It finally hit home, though the news was being delivered by a pair of giant mechanical aliens. I turned around and walked out of the factory, collapsing against one of the walls outside. I didn't see Lionheart try to follow, nor did I see Optimus hold him back with one massive hand. Tears streamed down my face, and I wept without pause. When my eyes were red and swelled, and when my throat was hoarse and my tears were dry, I stood up. The sun had set. I approached the Autobots, who were talking amongst themselves in a language I couldn't understand.

"What do you want from me, exactly?" I asked them.

"For now?" Optimus replied. "Your silence. The world is not yet ready to learn of our existence, and there is another Human we must find. You have a role to play, Abigail…but not yet. Lionheart will return with you to your home, and we will seek you out in time."

"How do you know I won't go out and side with the Decepticons? What makes you think I want any part in this at all?"

Optimus crouched down so that he was closer to eye-level. Then, he pointed at my heart.

"You have had a part to play in both your fate, and ours, ever since you were born. You will not understand me when I say this, but the Spark in your chest speaks to my own, and to the Sparks of all Autobots. You are not evil, by any definition of the word, and therefore I trust you, Abigail. Do not prove my faith misplaced."

The finality in his tone was enough to make me swallow any further questions I may have had.

When Lionheart and I returned to Boulder City, I passed the charred pile of wood and bricks and steel that had been my own house. We continued on until we came to a blue-sided building, with a trimmed lawn and extensive garden against one side of the house. There was a matching garage, currently empty. My uncle's car must have still been parked at the shop where he worked. I wasn't sure it was entirely legal for me to be living here, but one thing I knew was that I had to finish my last three months of High School. I promised my mother, after all. The funeral was held three days later, once they had found enough remains to bury. On my graduation day, I drove to school in a new car. Lionheart had been 'cruising' while I was at school, when he was passed by a dark blue Shelby Cobra Mustang GT500 with white racing stripes. He went into an explanation of how an Autobot performs a scan, and thus can transform into any vehicle, but I stopped listening after about a minute. The car was beautiful, what can I say? I couldn't stop admiring it. On the front left of the grill, where the Shelby Cobra symbol should have been, there was an Autobot symbol instead.

"Ready to go, lass?" He asked me as I got in the car.

I nodded. The drive to school was short, to say the least. He parked up near the bleachers, where other cars had gathered, so that he could watch the ceremony. Once I had received my diploma and returned to the car, he spoke up.

"I'm sure your mother is very proud," He said. "You've done it, Abigail."

I smiled, despite my mixed emotions. "Thanks, Lionheart. It means a lot."

Once home, he had another surprise for me. The garage door shut, and I screamed to high heaven. In the passenger's seat, there was now a man in jeans, black boots, and a black button-down shirt whose sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. He had silver wristwatch on his right arm.

"It's only me, lass," He said.

"You…you can do that?"

"All Autobots can. Decepticons, too, I'd wager. It's called a Holoform. Useful in making Humans think the car actually has a driver."

"You…you look a lot like James Purefoy," I said with a laugh.

He shrugged. "Saw him on _Rome_, statistics proved most Earth women found him attractive…plus he's got talent. Couldn't possibly go wrong."

"How…"

"Internet?"

I rolled my eyes. "Good God, what's next? Optimus as Johnny Depp?"

Lionheart's Holoform laughed, following me as I got out of the car.

"How far away from this thing can you go?"

"As far as I need to," He said. "We're the same mind, just different forms. Watch."

There was a loud noise, like lightning crackling inside a bottle, and the Holoform was gone in a shower of blue sparkles. Seconds later, the same noise, and he was back again. I reached out and poked him in the shoulder.

"Feels solid enough to me," I said, more to myself than anything.

Another shrug. "Thought you might like some company, that's all."

I smiled. "That was very nice of you. Thanks, Lionheart."

A tiny blush crept to his ears and the edges of his cheeks. "Not a problem, lass."

"Can you eat? I was just about to make supper."

"Water, alcohol, and Energon about cover my menu."

"Energon?"

"Bright blue stuff, tastes great. All Autobots and Decepticons need it to survive. It's very much like gasoline for cars."

That made sense. I went to bed that night feeling like I had a friend for the first time in a long time, and my dreams were good ones because of it.


End file.
